I am writing, by a different opportunity, to various persons, and also to yourself. I think this letter will arrive first; if this vessel should accidentally arrive, and the other one be lost, I have given the viscount a list of the letters I have addressed to him. I forgot to mention my aunts;~{1} give them news of me as soon as this reaches you. I have made noduplicatafor you, because I write to you by every opportunity. Give news of me, also, to M. Margelay,~{2} the Abbe Fayon, and Desplaces.
A thousand tender regards to my sisters; I permit them to despise me as an infamous deserter—but they must also love me at the same time. My respects to Madame la Comtesse Auguste, and Madame de Fronsac. If my grandfather's letters should not reach him, present to him my respectful and affectionate regards. Adieu, adieu, my dearest life; continue to love me, for I love you most tenderly.
Present my compliments to Dr. Franklin and Mr. Deane; I wished to write to them, but cannot find time.
Endnotes:
1. Madame de Chavaniac and Madame de Motier, sisters of General Lafayette's father.
2. An ancient officer, to whom M. de Lafayette was confided, on leaving college, as to a governor.
Whitemarsh Camp, October 24, 1777.
SIR,—You were formerly annoyed, much against my wish, by the part you were called upon to take in my first projects; you will, perhaps, also feel annoyed by the attention I take the liberty of requesting you to give to the objects I have at present in view. They may appear to you as little worthy as the first of occupying your valuable time; but in this case, as in the previous one, my good intentions (even should they be ill-directed) may serve as my apology. My age might also, perhaps, have been one, formerly; I only request now that it may not prevent you from taking into consideration whether my opinions be rational.
I do not permit myself to examine what succour the glorious cause we are defending in America may have received; but my love for my own country makes me observe, with pleasure, under how many points of view the vexations of the family of England may be advantageous to her. There is, above all, one project which, in every case, andat all events, would present, I think, rational hopes of attaining any useful end, in exact proportion to the means employed in its execution; I allude to an expedition of greater or less importance against the East Indies; and I should fear to injure the cause by proposing myself to take charge of it.
Without pretending to the art of prophecy in relation to present events, but convinced in the sincerity of my heart that to injure England would be serving (shall I say revenging?) my country, I believe that this idea would powerfully excite the energy of each individual bearing the honourable name of Frenchman. I came hither without permission; I have obtained no approbation but that which may be implied by silence; I might also undertake another little voyage without having been authorized by government: if the success be uncertain, I should have the advantage of exposing only myself to danger,—and what should, therefore, prevent my being enterprising? If I could but succeed in the slightest degree, a flame kindled on the least important establishment of England, even if part of my own fortune were to be consumed also, would satisfy my heart by awakening hopes for a more propitious hour.
Guided by the slight knowledge which my ignorance has been able to obtain, I shall now state in what manner, Sir, I would undertake this enterprise. An American patent, to render my movements regular, the trifling succours by which it might be sustained, the assistance I might obtain at the French islands, the speculations of some merchants, the voluntary aid of a few of my fellow comrades,—such are the feeble resources which would enable me to land peacefully on the Isle of France. I should there find, I believe, privateers ready to assist me, and men to accompany me in sufficient numbers to lie in wait for the vessels returning from China, which would offer me a fresh supply of force, sufficient perhaps to enable me to fall upon one or two of their factories, and destroy them before they could be protected. With an aid, which I dare scarcely hope would be granted me, and, above all, with talents which I am far from having yet acquired, might not some advantage be taken of the jealousy of the different nabobs, the hatred of the Mahrattas, the venality of the sepoys, and the effeminacy of the English? Might not the crowd of Frenchmen dispersed at present on that coast be employed with advantage in the cause? As to myself personally, in any case, the fear of compromising my own country would prevent my acknowledging the pride I feel in being her son, even as the nobility in some provinces occasionally lay aside their marks of distinction to reassume them at a later period.
Although by no means blind as to the imprudence of the step, I would have hazarded this enterprise alone, if the fear of injuring the interests I wish to serve, by not sufficiently understanding them, or of proving a detriment to some better-concerted expedition, had not arrested my intended movements; for I have the vanity to believe that a project of this kind may one day be executed on a grander scale, and by far abler hands, than mine. Even now it might be executed in a manner that would, I think, insure success, if I could hope to receive from the government, not an order, not succours, not mere indifference,—but I know scarcely what, which I can find no language to express with sufficient delicacy.
In this case, an order from the king, should he deign to restore me for some time to my friends and family, without prohibiting my return hither, would give me a hint to prepare myself with American continental commissions; some preparations and instructions from France might also precede that pretended return, and conduct me straight to the East Indies: the silence which was formerly perhaps an error, would then become a sacred duty, and would serve to conceal my true destination, and above all the sort of approbation it might receive.
Such, Sir, are the ideas that, duly impressed with a sense of my incapacity and youth, I presume to submit to your better judgment, and, if you should think favourably of them, to the various modifications to which you may conceive them liable; I am certain, at least, that they cannot be deemed ridiculous, because they are inspired by a laudable motive—the love of my country. I only ask for the honour of serving her under other colours, and I rejoice at seeing her interest united to that of the republicans for whom I am combating; earnestly hoping, however, that I shall soon be allowed to fight under the French banner. A commission of grenadier in the king's army would, in that case, be more agreeable to me than the highest rank in a foreign army.
I reproach myself too much, Sir, for thus offering you my undigested ideas regarding Asia, to heighten my offence by presumptuously tracing a plan of America, embellished with my own reflections, which you do not require, and have not asked for: the zeal which led me hither, and, above all, the friendship which unites me to the general-in-chief, would render me liable to the accusation of partiality, from which feeling I flatter myself I am wholly free. I reserve till my return the honour of mentioning to you the names of those officers of merit whom the love of their profession has led to this continent. All those who are French, Sir, have a right to feel confidence in you. It is on this ground that I claim your indulgence; I have a second claim upon it from the respect with which I have the honour to be, Sir,
Your very humble and obedient servant,
If this letter should weary you, Sir, the manner in which it will reach you may be deemed perhaps but too secure. I entrust it to M. de Valfort, captain of the regiment of Aunis, with the commission of colonel in our islands, whom his talents, reputation, and researches, have rendered useful in this country, and whom the wishes of General Washington would have detained here, if his health had not rendered it absolutely necessary for him to return to France. I shall here await your orders, (which cannot, without difficulty, enter an American harbour,) or I shall go myself to receive them, as future circumstances may render proper; for, since my arrival, I have not received one order which could regulate my movements.
The Camp near Whitemarsh, Oct. 29th, 1777.
I send you an open letter, my dearest love, in the person of M. de Valfort, my friend, whom I entreat you to receive as such. He will tell you at length everything concerning me; but I must tell you myself how well I love you. I have too much pleasure in experiencing this sentiment not to have also pleasure in repeating it to you a thousand times, if that were possible. I have no resource left me, my love, but to write and write again, without even hoping that my letters will ever reach you, and I endeavour to console myself, by the pleasure of conversing with you, for the disappointment and anguish of not receiving one single line from France. It is impossible to describe to you how completely my heart is torn by anxiety and fear; nor should I wish to express all I feel, even if it were in my power to do so; for I would not disturb, by any painful impressions, the happiest moments of my exile—those in which I can speak to you of my tenderness. But do you, at least, pity me? Do you comprehend all that I endure? If I could only know at this moment where you are, and what you are doing! but in the course of time I shall learn all this, for I am not separated from you in reality, as if I were dead. I am expecting your letters with an impatience, from which nothing can for an instant divert my thoughts: every one tells me they must soon arrive; but can I rely on this? Neglect not one opportunity of writing to me, if my happiness be still dear to you. Repeat to me that you love me: the less I merit your affection, the more necessary to me are your consoling assurances of it. You must have received so many accounts of my slight wound, that all repetitions on the subject would be useless; and if you ever believed it was anything serious, M. de Valfort can undeceive you. In a very short time I shall not even be lame.
Is it not dreadful, my love, to reflect that it is by the public, by English papers, by our enemy's gazettes, that I should receive intelligence concerning you? In an unimportant article relating to my arrival here, they ended by speaking of yourself, your situation, and approaching confinement; that source of all my fears, agitations, hopes, and joy. How happy I should feel if I could learn that I had become a second time a father, that you are in good health, that my two children and their mother are likely to constitute the felicity of my future life! This country is delightful for the growth of filial and paternal love: these feelings may even be termed passions, and give rise to the most assiduous and unremitting care. The news of your confinement will be received with joy by the whole army, and above all by its commander.
I shall find my poor little Henriette very amusing on my return. I hope she will deliver a long sermon of reproof, and that she will speak to me with all the frankness of friendship; for my daughter will be always, I trust, my most intimate friend; I will only be a father in affection, and paternal love shall unite in my heart with friendship. Embrace her, my love,—may I say embracethem?—for me! But I will not dwell upon all I suffer from this painful uncertainty. I know that you share all the sorrows of my heart, and I will not afflict you. I wrote by the last opportunity to Madame d'Ayen; since my wound I have written to everybody; but those letters have perhaps been lost. It is not my fault; I wish to return a little evil to those wicked letter-stealers when they are on land, but on the sea I have only the consolation of the weak, that of cursing heartily those of whom I cannot be revenged. A thousand tender respects to your mother; my kind regards to your sisters. Do not forget my compliments to the Marshal de Noailles, and to your paternal and maternal relations. I have received four foolish lines from the Marshal de Mouchy, who does not say one word of you; I swore at him in every language. Adieu, my love, adieu; ask questions of my good, excellent friend, M. de Valfort, for my paper is coming to a close. It is dreadful to be reduced to hold no communication but by letter with a person whom one loves as I love you, and as I shall ever love you, until I draw my latest breath.
I have not missed a single opportunity, not even the most indirect one, without writing to you. Do the same also on your side, my dearest life, if you love me; but I should indeed be unfeeling and ungrateful if I were to doubt your love.
Camp of Whitemarsh, November 6th, 1777.
You will perhaps receive this letter, my dearest love, at the expiration of five or six years, for I am writing to you by an accidental opportunity, in which I do not place great trust. See what a circuit my letter must make. An officer in the army will carry it to Fort Pitt, three hundred miles in the interior of the continent; it will then embark on the great Ohio river, and traverse regions inhabited only by savages; having reached New Orleans, a small vessel will transport it to the Spanish islands; a ship of that nation—God knows when!—will carry it with her on her return to Europe. But it will even then be very distant from you; and it is only after having been soiled by the dirty hands of all the Spanish post-masters that it will be allowed to pass the Pyrenees. It may very possibly be unsealed and resealed five or six times before it be finally placed in your hands; but it will prove to you that I neglect no opportunity, not even the most indirect one, of sending you news of myself, and of repeating how well I love you. It is, however, for my own satisfaction only that I delight to tell you so at present; I hope that I shall have the pleasure of throwing this letter in the fire when it arrives, for be it understood I shall be there also, and my presence will render this piece of paper very insignificant. The idea is most soothing to my heart, and I indulge it with rapture. How enchanting to think of the moments when we shall be together! but how painful also to recollect that my joy is only caused by an illusion, and that I am separated from the reality of my happiness by two thousand leagues, an immense ocean, and villanous English vessels! Those wretched vessels make me very unhappy. One letter, one letter only, have I yet received from you, my love; the others have been lost or taken, and are probably at the bottom of the sea. I must consider our enemy the cause of this dreadful loss; for I am certain you do not neglect to write to me from every port, and by all the despatches sent by Dr. Franklin and Mr. Deane. And yet some ships arrived; I have sent couriers to every corner of the continent; but all my hopes have been frustrated. Perhaps you have not been properly informed. I entreat you, my love, to inquire carefully in what manner you may best send your letters. It is so dreadful for me to be deprived of them, and I am so unhappy at being separated from all I love! I am guilty, it is true, of having caused my own calamity; but you would pity me if you knew all that my heart endured.
But why tell you news in a letter destined to travel about the world for years, which will reach you perhaps in shreds, and will represent antiquity personified? My other despatches must have informed you of the various events of the campaign. The battle of Brandywine, in which I most skilfully lost a small part of my leg; the taking possession of Philadelphia, which will by no means, however, be attended with the ill consequences which have been expected in Europe; the attack of a post at Germantown, at which I was not present, from having received a recent wound, and which did not prove successful; the surrender of General Burgoyne, with five thousand men—that same Burgoyne who wished to devour us all, last spring, but who finds himself this autumn the prisoner of war of our northern army; and finally, our present situation, stationed immediately opposite each other, at four leagues distance, and General Howe established at Philadelphia, making great exertion to take certain forts, and having already lost in the attempt one large and one small vessel. You are now quite as well informed on the subject as if you were general-in-chief of either army. I need only at this moment add, that the wound of the 11th of September, of which I have spoken to you a thousand times, is almost completely healed, although I am still a little lame, but that in a few days there will scarcely remain any traces of this accident. All these details will be given you very circumstantially by my friend Mr. de Valfort, to whom I have given a letter for you, and on whose accounts you may implicitly rely. I have just learnt that he has sailed, not, as I expected, in a packet, but in a good frigate of thirty-five guns: it would be unlucky indeed if he were taken. From his lips, and the epistle which I confided to him five or six days ago, you will learn all that your affection for me may make you wish to know. I wish you also knew the precise day of my return, and I am most impatient to fix that day myself, and to be able to say to you, in the joy of my heart,—upon such a day I set out to rejoin you, and obtain all earthly happiness.
A little gentleman, in a blue coat, with lemon-coloured facings and a white waistcoat, a German, coming hither to solicit an employment, (which he will not obtain,) and speaking wretched French, told me that he quitted Europe in the month of August: he talked to me of politics and of the ministry; he upset all Europe generally, and every court individually; but he knew not a word of what was most interesting to my heart. I examined him in every way; I mentioned fifty names to him; his answer was always,"Me not know them noblemen."
I will not weary you with a long account of the state of my finances. The accident which occurred to my vessel was a source of vexation to me, because that vessel would have been useful to me in the present settlement of my affairs; but it is no longer in being, and I should reproach myself with having sent it back, had I not been obliged to make its return a clause in my engagements, on account of my minority.~{1} Everything here is incredibly dear. We feel the consolation of the malevolent in thinking that the scarcity is still greater in Philadelphia. In time of war, we become reconciled to all we may ourselves endure by making our enemies suffer ten times more. We have here an abundance of provisions, and we learn with pleasure that our English neighbours are not so fortunate.
Do not think at present of being uneasy on my account; all the hard blows are over, and there can be, at most, but some little miniature strokes, which cannot concern me; I am not less secure in this camp than I should be were I in the centre of Paris. If every possible advantage to be attained by serving here; if the friendship of the army in gross and in detail; if a tender union with the most respectable and admirable of men, General Washington, sustained by mutual confidence; if the affection of those Americans by whom I wish to be beloved; if all this were sufficient to constitute my happiness, I should indeed have nothing to desire. But my heart is far from being tranquil. You would compassionate me, if you knew how much that heart suffers, and how well it loves you!
The present season of the year makes me hope to receive some letters. What may they announce to me? what may I hope? O, my dearest love, how cruel it is to endure this painful anxiety, under circumstances which are so all-important to my happiness! Have I two children? have I another infant to share my tender affection with my dearest Henriette? Embrace my dear little girl a thousand times for me; embrace them both tenderly, my dearest life. I trust they will know one day how well I love them.
A thousand respectful compliments to Madame d'Ayen; a thousand tender ones to the viscountess and my sisters; to my friends a million of kind regards; remember me to every one. Adieu! take care of your own health; give me circumstantial details of all things; believe that I love you more than ever, that you are the first object of my affection, and the surest guarantee of my felicity. The sentiments so deeply engraven on a heart which belongs to you alone, shall remain, whilst that heart continues to vibrate. Will you, too, always love me, my dearest life? I dare believe it, and that we shall mutually render each other happy by an affection equally tender and eternal. Adieu, adieu! how delightful would it be to embrace you at this moment, and say to you with my own lips, I love thee better than I have ever loved, and I shall love thee for the remainder of my life.
Endnotes:
1. It will be seen by the memoirs that that vessel was wrecked on the bar of Charlestown.
Haddonfield, the 26th November, 1777.
Dear General,—I went down to this place since the day before yesterday, in order to be acquainted of all the roads and grounds around the enemy. I heard at my arrival that their main body was between Great and Little Timber Creek since the same evening. Yesterday morning, in reconnoitering about, I have been told that they were very busy in crossing the Delaware. I saw them myself in their boats, and sent that intelligence to General Greene as soon as possible, as every other thing I heard of. But I want to acquaint your excellency of a little event of last evening, which, though not very considerable in itself, will certainly please you, on account of the bravery and alacrity a small party of ours shewed on that occasion. After having spent the most part of the day to make myself well acquainted with the certainty of their motions, I came pretty late into the Gloucester road, between the two creeks. I had ten light-horse with Mr. Lindsey, almost a hundred and fifty riflemen, under Colonel Buttler, and two piquets of the militia, commanded by Colonels Hite and Ellis: my whole body was not three hundred. Colonel Armand, Colonel Laumoy, the chevaliers Duplessis and Gimat, were the Frenchmen who went with me. A scout of my men, with whom was Mr. Duplessis, to see how near were the first piquets from Gloucester, found at two miles and a half of it a strong post of three hundred and fifty Hessians with field-pieces, (what number I did know, by the unanimous deposition of their prisoners,) and engaged immediately. As my little reconnoitering party was all in fine spirits, I supported them. We pushed the Hessians more than an half mile from the place where was their main body, and we made them run very fast: British reinforcements came twice to them, but, very far from recovering their ground, they went always back. The darkness of the night prevented us then to push that advantage, and, after standing upon the ground we had got, I ordered them to return very slow to Haddonfield. The enemy, knowing perhaps by our drums that we were not so near, came again to fire at us; but the brave Major Moriss, with a part of his riflemen, sent them back, and pushed them very fast. I understand that they have had between twenty-five and thirty wounded, at least that number killed, among whom I am certain, is an officer; some say more, and the prisoners told me they have lost the commandant of that body; we got yet, this day, fourteen prisoners. I sent you the most moderate account I had from themselves. We left one single man killed, a lieutenant of militia, and only five of ours were wounded. Such is the account of our little entertainment, which is indeed much too long for the matter, but I take the greatest pleasure to let you know that the conduct of our soldiers is above all praises: I never saw men so merry, so spirited, so desirous to go on to the enemy, whatever forces they could have, as that small party was in this little fight. I found the riflemen above even their reputation, and the militia above all expectations I could have: I returned to them my very sincere thanks this morning. I wish that this little success of ours may please you, though a very trifling one, I find it very interesting on account of the behaviour of our soldiers.
Some time after I came back, General Varnum arrived here; General Greene is, too, in this place since this morning; he engaged me to give you myself the account of the little advantage of that small part of the troops under his command. I have nothing more to say to your excellency about our business on this side, because he is writing himself: I should have been very glad, if circumstances had permitted me, to be useful to him upon a greater scale. As he is obliged to march slow in order to attend his troops, and as I am here only a volunteer, I will have the honour to wait upon your excellency as soon as possible, and I'll set out to-day: it will be a great pleasure for me to find myself again with you.
With the most tender affection and highest respect I have the honour to be,
I must tell, too, that the riflemen had been the whole day running before my horse, without eating or taking any rest.
I have just now a certain assurance that two British officers, besides those I spoke you of, have died this morning of their wounds in an house; this, and some other circumstances, let me believe that their lost may be greater than I told to your excellency.
Endnotes:
1. All the letters addressed to General Washington, as well as to other Americans, were written in English. Since the death of General Washington, his family have returned to General Lafayette the original letters he had addressed to him, and these are now in our possession. The originals of Washington's letters were almost all lost in the French revolution; but M. de Lafayette, during his last journey to the United States, had a great number of them copied from minutes preserved by Washington himself: they have been inserted in the collection we have so frequently quoted from, published by Mr. Sparks.
Camp Gulph, Pennsylvania, Dec. 16th, 1777.
This letter, if it ever reaches you, will find you at least in France; some hazards are averted by this circumstance, but I must not indulge in many hopes. I never write a letter for Europe without deploring before hand the fate most probably awaiting it, and I labour, undoubtedly, more for Lord Howe than for any of my friends. The bad season is fortunately drawing near; the English ships will be obliged to quit their confounded cruising stations; I may then receive letters, and forward them from hence with some degree of security; this will make me very happy, and will prevent my wearying you by a repetition of events which I wish you to be acquainted with, but which I do not wish to remind you of each time I write. I am very anxious for the account of your journey. I depend principally on Madame de Lafayette for its details; she well knows how interesting they will be to me. The Marshall de Noailles tells me, in general terms, that the letters he receives from Italy assure him the travellers are all in good health. From him I have also learnt the confinement of Madame Lafayette; he does not speak of it as if it were the happiest of all possible circumstances; but my anxiety was too keen to be able to make any distinction of sex; and by kindly writing to me, and giving me an account of the event, he rendered me far, far happier than he imagined, when he announced to me that I had only a daughter.~{1} The Rue de St. Honoré has now for ever lost its credit, whilst the other Hotel de Noailles has acquired new lustre by the birth of Adrian.~{2} It is truly an ill-proceeding on my part to throw that disgrace on a family from whom I have received so much kindness. You must now be freezing on the high roads of France; those of Pennsylvania are also very cold, and I endeavour vainly to persuade myself that the difference of latitude betwixt this and Paris ought to give us, comparatively speaking, a delightful winter: I am even told that it will be more severe. We are destined to pass it in huts, twenty miles from Philadelphia, that we may protect the country, be enabled to take advantage of every favourable opportunity, and also have the power of instructing the troops by keeping them together. It would, perhaps, have been better to have entered quietly into real winter quarters; but political reasons induced General Washington to adopt this half-way measure.
I wish I had sufficient skill to give you a satisfactory account of the military events passing in this country; but, in addition to my own incapacity, reasons, of which you will understand the weight, prevent my hazarding in a letter, exposed to the capture of the English fleet, a relation which might explain many things, if I had the happiness of conversing with you in person. I will, however, endeavour to repeat to you, once more, the most important events that have occurred during this campaign. My gazette, which will be more valuable from not containing my own remarks, must be preferable to the gazettes of Europe; because the man who sees with his own eyes, even if he should not see quite correctly, must always merit more attention than the man who has seen nothing. As to the gazettes which the English shower upon us, they appear to me only fit to amuse chairmen over their mugs of ale; and even these men must have indulged in liberal potations, not to perceive the falsehoods they contain. It seems to me that the project of the English ministry was to cut in a line that part of America which extends from the bay of Chesapeak to Ticonderoga. General Howe was ordered to repair to Philadelphia by the Elk river; Burgoyne to descend to Albany, and Clinton to ascend from New York by the North river: the three generals might in this manner have joined hands; they would have received, or pretended to receive, the submission of the alleged conquered provinces; we should only have retained for our winter quarters the interior of the country, and have depended solely for our resources on the four southern states. An attack on Charlestown may also, perhaps, have been intended: in the opinion of the cabinet of the King of England, America was thus almost conquered. Providence fortunately permitted some alterations to take place in the execution of this finely-conceived project—to exercise, probably, for some time, the constancy of the British nation.
When I arrived at the army, in the month of August, I was much astonished at not finding any enemies. After having made some marches into Jersey, where nothing occurred, General Howe embarked at New York. We were encamped, and expecting their descent, on the Chester side, when we learnt that they were at the mouth of the Elk river. General Washington marched to meet them, and after having taken up several stations, resolved to wait their arrival upon some excellent heights on the Brandywine stream. The 11th of September the English marched to attack us; but whilst they were amusing us with their cannon, and several movements in front, they suddenly detached the greater part of their troops, the choicest men of their army, with the grenadiers, under the command of General Howe, and Lord Cornwallis, to pass a ford four miles distant on our right. As soon as General Washington became aware of this movement, he detached his whole right wing to march towards them. Some unfounded reports, which had all the appearance of truth, and which contradicted the first accounts received, arrested for a length of time the progress of that wing, and when it arrived, the enemy had already crossed the ford. Thus it became necessary to engage in an open field with an army superior in numbers to our own. After having for some time sustained a very brisk fire, though many were killed on the side of the English, the Americans were obliged to give way. A portion of them was rallied and brought back: it was then that I received my wound. In a word, to cut the matter short, everything went on badly on both sides, and General Washington was defeated—because he could not gain the first general battle which had been fought during the war. The army reassembled at Chester; but having been carried to a distance from it, I have not been able to follow its different movements. General Howe took advantage of the disorder which a tremendous rain had occasioned in our army to pass the Schuylkill; he repaired to Philadelphia, to take possession of it, and stationed himself between that town and Germantown. General Washington attacked him on the 4th of October; and we may assert that our general beat theirs, although their troops defeated ours, since he surprised him, and even drove back the English for some time; but their experience proved again triumphant over our unpractised officers and soldiers. Some time before this event, an American brigadier, placed in detachment on the other side of the river, had been attacked at night in his camp, and had lost some of his men. These are the only important events which took place on our side during the six weeks that I was absent from the camp, whilst obliged to keep my bed from my unclosed wound: at that time we received good news of General Burgoyne. When I first rejoined the army, whilst General Howe was on the water, I learnt that Ticonderoga had been precipitately abandoned by the Americans, leaving there several cannons and a quantity of ammunition. This success inflamed the pride of General Burgoyne, and he issued a pompous proclamation, for which he has since paid very dearly. His first act was to send a detachment, which was repulsed; he was not, however, discouraged, but marched on, through immense forests, in a country which contained but a single road. General Gates had under his orders fifteen or sixteen thousand men, who distressed the enemy by firing upon them from behind the trees. Whether conqueror or conquered, General Burgoyne's force became gradually weakened, and every quarter of a league cost him many men. At length, surrounded on all sides, and perishing with hunger, he was obliged to enter into a convention, in virtue of which he was conducted by the New England militia into that same state of Massachusets in which it had been asserted in London he was to take up his winter quarters. From thence he is to be conveyed, with whatever troops he may have remaining, to England, at the expense of the king his master. Ticonderoga has been since evacuated by the English.
General Clinton, who had set out rather late from New York, after having taken and destroyed Fort Montgomery, on the north river, endeavoured to reach the rear of Gates; but, hearing of the convention, he returned on the same road by which he had advanced. If he had been more rapid in his march, the affairs of General Gates would not have ended so fortunately.
When my wound permitted me, after the space of six weeks, to rejoin the army, I found it stationed fifteen miles from Philadelphia; our northern reinforcements had arrived; General Howe was much incommoded by two forts, one on the Jersey side, the other on the little Island of Mud, that you will find on your map, below the Schuylkill. These two forts defended the chevaux de frise of the Delaware; they held out for a long time, against all the efforts of the English troops, both by sea and land. Two young Frenchmen, who were acting there as engineers, acquired much glory by their conduct; MM. de Fleury, of the regiment of Rouergue, and Mauduit Duplessis, who had also at the same time the command of the artillery: he is an artillery officer in France. Some Hessians, commanded by Count Donop, attacked the fort in which Mauduit was stationed, and were repulsed with considerable loss. Count Donop was taken and received a mortal wound. These forts, after having made a vigorous resistance, were at length evacuated. Lord Cornwallis then passed into Jersey with five thousand men. The same number of our troops was stationed there, under one of our major-generals. As I was only a volunteer, I went to reconnoitre the ground, and having met, accidentally, with a detachment near the enemy's post, the good conduct of my soldiers rendered an imprudent attack justifiable. We were told that his lordship had been wounded. He then again re-crossed the river, and we also did the same. Some days afterwards our army assembled at Whitemarsh, thirteen miles from Philadelphia. The whole army of General Howe advanced to attack us: but having examined our position on every side, they judged it more prudent to retire during the night, after four days of apparent hesitation. We then executed the project of crossing over on this side of the Schuylkill, and after having been delayed on the opposite side, from finding on this shore a part of the enemy's army, (although they only fired a few cannon balls at us,) they left us a free passage the next day, and we shall all repair unto our huts for the winter.
Whilst remaining there, the American army will endeavour to clothe itself, because it is almost in a state of nudity,—to form itself, because it requires instruction,—and to recruit itself, because it is feeble; but the thirteen states are going to rouse themselves and send us some men. My division will, I trust, be one of the strongest, and I will exert myself to make it one of the best. The actual situation of the enemy is by no means an unpleasant one; the army of Burgoyne is fed at the expense of the republic, and the few men they may obtain back, for many will be lost upon the road, will immediately be replaced by other troops; Clinton is quite at ease in New York, with a numerous garrison; General Howe is paying court to the belles of Philadelphia. The liberty the English take of stealing and pillaging from friends as well as foes, places them completely at their ease. Their ships at present sail up to the town, not, however, without some danger, for, without counting the ship of sixty-four guns and the frigate which were burnt before the forts, and without counting all those that I trust the ice will destroy, several are lost every day on the difficult passage they are obliged to undertake.
The loss of Philadelphia is far from being so important as it is conceived to be in Europe. If the differences of circumstances, of countries, and of proportion between the two armies, were not duly considered, the success of General Gates would appear surprising when compared to the events that have occurred with us,—taking into account the superiority of General Washington over General Gates. Our General is a man formed, in truth, for this revolution, which could not have been accomplished without him. I see him more intimately than any other man, and I see that he is worthy of the adoration of his country. His tender friendship for me, and his complete confidence in me, relating to all military and political subjects, great as well as small, enable me to judge of all the interests he has to conciliate, and all the difficulties he has to conquer. I admire each day more fully the excellence of his character, and the kindness of his heart. Some foreigners are displeased at not having been employed, (although it did not depend on him to employ them)—others, whose ambitious projects he would not serve,—and some intriguing, jealous men, have endeavoured to injure his reputation; but his name will be revered in every age, by all true lovers of liberty and humanity; and although I may appear to be eulogising my friend, I believe that the part he makes me act, gives me the right of avowing publicly how much I admire and respect him. There are many interesting things that I cannot write, but will one day relate to you, on which I entreat you to suspend your judgment, and which will redouble your esteem for him.
America is most impatiently expecting us to declare for her, and France will one day, I hope, determine to humble the pride of England. This hope, and the measures which America appears determined to pursue, give me great hopes for the glorious establishment of her independence. We are not, I confess, so strong as I expected, but we are strong enough to fight; we shall do so, I trust, with some degree of success; and, with the assistance of France, we shall gain, with costs, the cause that I cherish, because it is the cause of justice,—because it honors humanity,—because it is important to my country,—and because my American friends, and myself, are deeply engaged in it. The approaching campaign will be an interesting one. It is said that the English are sending us some Hanoverians; some time ago they threatened us with, what was far worse, the arrival of some Russians. A slight menace from France would lessen the number of these reinforcements. The more I see of the English, the more thoroughly convinced I am, that it is necessary to speak to them in a loud tone.
After having wearied you with public affairs, you must not expect to escape without being wearied also with my private affairs. It is impossible to be more agreeably situated than I am in a foreign country. I have only feelings of pleasure to express, and I have each day more reason to be satisfied with the conduct of the congress towards me, although my military occupations have allowed me to become personally acquainted with but few of its members. Those I do know have especially loaded me with marks of kindness and attention. The new president, Mr. Laurens, one of the most respectable men of America, is my particular friend. As to the army, I have had the happiness of obtaining the friendship of every individual; not one opportunity is lost of giving me proofs of it. I passed the whole summer without accepting a division, which you know had been my previous intention; I passed all that time at General Washington's house, where I felt as if I were with a friend of twenty years' standing. Since my return from Jersey, he has desired me to choose, amongst several brigades, the division which may please me best; but I have chosen one entirely composed of Virginians. It is weak in point of numbers at present, just in proportion, however, to the weakness of the whole army, and almost in a state of nakedness; but I am promised cloth, of which I shall make clothes, and recruits, of which soldiers must be made, about the same period; but, unfortunately, the last is the most difficult task, even for more skilful men than me. The task I am performing here, if I had acquired sufficient experience to perform it well, would improve exceedingly my future knowledge. The major-general replaces the lieutenant-general, and the field-marshal, in their most important functions, and I should have the power of employing to advantage, both my talents and experience, if Providence and my extreme youth allowed me to boast of possessing either. I read, I study, I examine, I listen, I reflect, and the result of all is the endeavour at forming an opinion, into which I infuse as much common sense as possible. I will not talk much, for fear of saying foolish things; I will still less risk acting much, for fear of doing foolish things; for I am not disposed to abuse the confidence which the Americans have kindly placed in me. Such is the plan of conduct which I have followed until now, and which I shall continue to follow; but when some ideas occur to me, which I believe may become useful when properly rectified, I hasten to impart them to a great judge, who is good enough to say that he is pleased with them. On the other hand, when my heart tells me that a favourable opportunity offers, I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of participating in the peril, but I do not think that the vanity of success ought to make us risk the safety of an army, or of any portion of it, which may not be formed or calculated for the offensive. If I could make an axiom, with the certainty of not saying a foolish thing, I should venture to add that, whatever may be our force, we must content ourselves with a completely defensive plan, with the exception, however, of the moment when we may be forced to action, because I think I have perceived that the English troops are more astonished by a brisk attack than by a firm resistance.
This letter will be given you by the celebrated Adams, whose name must undoubtedly be known to you. As I have never allowed myself to quit the army, I have not been able to see him. He wished that I should give him letters of introduction to France, especially to yourself. May I hope that you will have the goodness of receiving him kindly, and even of giving him some information respecting the present state of affairs. I fancied you would not be sorry to converse with a man whose merit is so universally acknowledged. He desires ardently to succeed in obtaining the esteem of our nation. One of his friends himself told me so.
Endnotes:
1. Madame Charles de Latour-Maubourg.
2. A son of the Viscount de Noailles, who was the son of Marshal de Mouchy, and married the eldest daughter of the Duke d'Ayen.